"Rudy Rucker - Realware" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rucker Rudy)

There was knotted little bit of metal in the palm of Jane's thin little hand —a gold ring tied in an overhand knot with no
sign of a break or a weld. Like a tiny sculpture.

"It's his wedding-ring," said Willow. "The gimmie found it on our bedroom floor. If you look closely, you can still make
out the inscription, To Kurt from Willow.' It's creepy the way it's knotted. I don't want it."

"I think it's been knotted in the fourth dimension," said Jane. She'd always been a better student of their father's ideas
than Phil. "In the fourth dimension you can knot a closed loop by lifting part of it ana out of our space, moving it
across, and then pushing it back kata into our space." Ana and kata had been Kurt Gottner's special words for the
four-dimensional analogs of up and down. Jane looked at Phil with intent eyes. "This means the thing that ate Da
comes from a higher dimension."

"Oh sick, there's a moldie here," interrupted Kevvie, sniffing the air. She looked around. "Over there with Tre and Terri
Dietz. Who invited a moldie?"

There was indeed a soft-looking figure standing with Tre and Terri Dietz, a plastic moldie shaped like a barrel-chested
sixty-year-old man, white-bearded and white-haired, a man with a big head and high cheekbones, his skin somewhat
papery in appearance. Even without the smell, you could tell he was a moldie from how flexibly he moved. Yoke was
standing next to him, chatting and laughing with a bottle of soda in her hand. She looked like a fashion model.

"I think that's —you know—Cobb Anderson!" exclaimed Phil, glad for the distraction. Growing up as Kurt Gottner's
son, he'd heard enough about higher dimensions to last him a lifetime. "We'll talk about it later, Jane." He hurried over
to the other group, glad for another chance to be with Yoke.

"Hi, Phil," said Yoke. "Cobb, this is Phil Gottner. Phil, this is Cobb Anderson. Cobb flew me down here from the Moon.
He's here to pick up one of his relatives from Santa Cruz. His great-grandson."

Phil was surprised. 'You're from the Moon, Yoke?"

"Duh! Why do you think it took me so long to walk up those stairs? I could see you feeling sorry for me. Well, I'm
getting stronger every day."

"Hello, Phil," said Cobb, insisting on shaking Phil's hand. His imipolex moldie flesh was cool and slightly slippery. "Tre
says your father was a great man. I hope you don't mind my coming to the ceremony. I'm just so happy to be out with
people doing regular things. I haven't done anything normal in I don't know how many years." He had a hearty,
booming voice with a crackle in the lower registers. His speech membranes couldn't quite reproduce a true human
bass.

"I don't mind if you're here, Mr. Anderson, it's an honor. My father would be happy. But—there are a lot of the people
at the Bass School who really hate moldies. Not that you're a moldie exactly. I mean, at least you started out as
human."

"I'm like a Wal-Mart greeter now," rumbled Cobb. "If that means anything to you. Pure plastic." He turned his massive
head, slowly looking around. "Now that you mention it, Phil, I do notice a few frosty stares. I'll just take a little stroll
around the neighborhood. This is Palo Alto, eh? Pretty snooty. I can see why my great-grandson didn't want to
come." Cobb smiled, bowed, and undulated off down the school's gravel driveway.

"I don't get how he could fly you down here from the Moon," Phil said to Yoke.
"I was inside him. Like the wendy meat in a California corn-dog!"